


Gift

by redcandle17



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 02:38:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1671626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcandle17/pseuds/redcandle17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Joffrey gives his Hound a very generous gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gift

"Your brother is dead," Joffrey happily informed his betrothed.

Sansa seemed not to have heard him at first. Sandor found it within him to pity the girl. He wanted his own brother dead more than anything else, but she loved her brothers. When the news had come about the Ironborn seizing Winterfell and killing the two youngest Starks, her face had remained frozen in a smile until she was safely in her bed chamber. She seemed frozen again as Joff crowed gleefully about the Young Wolf's fall. Arrows had done the job, but the boy king was as proud as if he'd plunged a sword in Robb Stark himself. 

"I am pleased for you, Your Grace," Sansa said at last. "I congratulate you on your great victory." 

Sandor felt his mouth twist in an ugly smile. The septa really had done an excellent job teaching the girl her pretty words. However pretty words weren't what Joff wanted now. He wanted tears and anguished sobs, and he was disappointed when they didn't come. Luckily for Sansa, Joff still needed to justify his cruelty to himself. She'd given him no cause for punishment so he wouldn't have her beaten yet. Sandor dreaded the day Joffrey became the monster they said Aerys had been. 

"I suppose you are the last Stark, Sansa," Joffrey said. "I should have Ser Ilyn chop off your head and then there'll be no more Starks." 

This was a tricky one. Sandor was curious to see how the little bird handled it. 

"My life is worthless," she chirped. "I pray chopping off my head would give Your Grace a little amusement." 

He had to laugh. Joff mistook him and laughed too. "She's very stupid, isn't she, dog? Mother says I am to marry Margaery Tyrell instead. _She_ isn't stupid like Sansa." 

However in the end it was Sansa Stark Joffrey took to wife in the Great Sept of Baelor. The decision had been his grandfather's, and as proud as Lord Tywin was, Sandor suspected the eight thousand year old Stark bloodline had been behind his decision. Considering the weak position the Starks and Tullys had been in after the Young Wolf's death, Tywin had given them very generous terms of surrender.

Of course it had cost him nothing to be generous, and after Stannis Baratheon was defeated and fled to the Wall, he became Catelyn Stark's problem. And Tywin had his firstborn son back. Sandor was pleased when the Kingslayer returned to King's Landing too. Cersei jested that Catelyn Stark had removed his balls in her dungeon, but it seemed to Sandor that Jaime had finally reclaimed them from his sister. The first time Joff ordered him to cut out a man's tongue, Jaime backhanded the boy. He had not apologized, no matter how Cersei slapped him and cried. She'd been further enraged when Lord Tywin approved the action rather than berate Jaime for it. 

Marriage to Joffrey could not have been easy for Sansa, but she never let it show. She handled the courtiers who flocked around her well, especially after Tywin wed Cersei to Edmure Tully and sent her off to Riverrun. "The little bird can peck as well as chirp," Sandor commented one day after she'd courteously but firmly spurred a lordling's attempt to curry favor. He was surprised by the smile she gave him; she even managed to meet his eyes for a brief moment before looking away from his ugly face. 

 

Two years later…

 

"I've seen you looking at her, dog." 

Sandor started to deny it or make light of it, but Joffrey held up his hand. "It's all right. It would amuse me to watch you fuck her." Joff looked as eagerly expectant as when he'd been a boy training with a wooden sword and looking to Sandor for approval whenever he managed to knock his opponent down.

Sansa was sitting on the edge of the bed; those big blue eyes that couldn't bear the look of his face were lowered. He doubted her husband's idea sat well with her, but she had no options other than obedience. Sandor told himself he had no choice either; no more than when he'd killed that butcher's boy. He was a Lannister dog and he had to follow Lannister orders. 

"Now?"

"Now."

Sandor unfastened the brooch that held his cloak. The Sword of the Morning had never been given this task – or maybe he had, considering how mad Aerys had been. Strange that obedience to the king could stain the white cloak as badly as disobedience. He unbuckled his sword belt and the sound of it hitting the floor made the little bird look up. She gave him the briefest of glances before looking away.

"Sansa, take off your clothes," Joffrey ordered. 

She rose and hesitantly began removing her clothing. When she was bare as her name day, she shielded her breasts with one arm and covered the triangle at the junction of her thighs with the other hand. Sandor wondered whether he could tell her to move her hands, whether Joff would allow it. 

"Arms at your side," Joff told her. He was looking at Sandor rather than at his wife. "What do you think, dog?"

"Good," Sandor said hoarsely. She was more than good. She made him want to use those pretty words singers liked. He started towards her but Joffrey interrupted. 

"Aren't you going to undress, dog? You should enjoy my gift properly."

"Yes, Your Grace." Sandor pulled his woolen tunic over his head and let it fall to the ground. Even the twin hearths at either side of the royal bedchamber could not quite ward off the chill of this long winter. It was the cold that made the little bird's teats peak, certainly not eagerness to fuck him. 

Maybe Joff wanted him to fall on her like a slavering dog, but she'd always been _courteous_ to him and she deserved better than that. He had considered kissing her before, but he'd never had the nerve to do it. However tonight the king had said he could enjoy her properly. 

Her eyes were already closed when he raised her chin to kiss her. Her mouth was soft and yielding, and the tentative caress of her tongue made him want to throw her on the bed and shove his cock into her right away. He ended the kiss before he lost control of himself. He just held her, breathing hard, but even that felt almost too good. 

"Pleasure him with your mouth," Joff commanded her.

Sandor's cock had never been harder in his life, but he could feel the little bird trembling. He grabbed her arm when she started to kneel and held her upright. "No, I don't want that," he lied. He looked to Joff for permission. "I want to touch her."

Joffrey looked skeptical. What man would refuse the chance to have his cock sucked by a beautiful woman? But he acquiesced. 

Sandor picked her up and placed her on the bed. Her eyes were open, wide and afraid and something else he couldn't identify. He stroked her cheek. It really was the greatest wrong to let a dog like him have the likes of her. He didn't deserve it and no doubt he would be punished for it later, like he was every time he took something that wasn't for him. It would be worth it though. 

He nuzzled her and put his ruined lips to her ear. "Don't fear, little bird. I won't hurt you." She made no reply, but her arms encircled him. He kissed her again, and again he had to stop quickly. He focused his attention of her body instead. When he was a green boy, female bodies had fascinated him – until he realized the whores loathed him and they just wanted it over as soon as possible. He touched Sansa gingerly now, certain he was clumsy. 

She seemed to like him suckling her teats. She made a sweet sound and petted his hair. Sandor slid his hand between her legs and was shocked to discover her wet already. _It's not for you_ , he told himself. _She's pretending you're the Knight of Flowers, dog._ The thought angered him. He grasped her chin. "Look at me."

Joff laughed. 

He'd frightened her. She was looking at him and there was no more he could demand. He stared down at her while he stroked her. She kept her gaze on his face, not closing her eyes or looking away even when he slipped his finger into her cunt. Her lips parted, but no words came out. 

She might be afraid to speak in front of Joff. Sandor pressed his cheek – the unburnt one – against hers to allow her the opportunity to whisper to him. She said nothing. No, of course not. What could she say? It was Joffrey's word that mattered. 

"Fuck her," Joffrey said.

He wanted to. But he searched for an excuse to dissuade Joffrey. "Your Grace, I could get her with child. A bastard."

Joff smiled. "She's already with child. Congratulate me, dog. Her belly will be big for the whole realm to see soon. My grandfather wants to wait to announce it at my name day tourney." The king would be sixteen in two moons' time and ruler in his own right. Gods help them all when that happened. 

There was nothing more to say, other than the congratulations Joffrey wanted. Sandor moved between Sansa’s thighs. 

"Not like that. Take her like a dog takes a bitch." 

He had never been more tempted to strike Joffrey. But he only turned Sansa over, more roughly than he'd meant to. _It's better this way for her. She won't have to look at your ugly face._ He tried to be gentle, but she still cried out when he entered her. 

Much to Sandor's irritation, Joffrey joined them on the bed. He sat beside his wife and brushed her long auburn hair away from her face almost tenderly. "How does it feel, Sansa?" he asked.

"Big." She quickly added, "And not as good as you, Your Grace."

Sandor could see Joff watching as his cock disappeared inside Sansa's cunt, reappeared, and disappeared again. He was beginning to get the uncomfortable suspicion that this was about him for Joffrey, not about tormenting poor Sansa like he'd thought. 

"You don't look pleased, dog," Joff observed. 

"I am honored by Your Grace's generosity, but…" _Stop looking at me, brat._

"You can slap her arse if you'd like. She likes being spanked. She cries and begs me not to, but it gets her wet as a tavern wench." 

Hearing what they did in private was somehow worse than this. He didn't like to think of Joff fucking the little bird. He traded with the other men of the Kingsguard so he never had to stand guard outside their bed chamber at night. His cock was still hard and happy where it was, but his thoughts were too troubled. He wouldn't be able to get off and finish his part of the performance like this. 

"Cunt is cunt. It feels the same to me as any whore's. I've never kissed a lady before though…"

"No," Sansa said. "Please don't let him," she begged Joffrey. 

Sandor gripped her hip hard, wanting to hit her like Joff had said he could. She hadn't said anything when Joff told her to suck his cock or fuck him but she objected to _kissing_ him?!

Joffrey always liked making people do things they didn't want to do. "You'll do it if I tell you to," he told his wife. "Do what you want with her, dog."

Sandor leaned across her and turned her face to him. Her eyes were open but he closed his so he wouldn't have to see Joff watching. Despite her earlier protest, she kissed him passionately. _Eager for it to be over_ , he thought. He was confused when she cupped his burned cheek, and stunned moments later when he felt her cunt contract rhythmically around him. Not even Joffrey caressing his back could stop him from climaxing then. 

When he'd withdrawn from Sansa, and Joffrey moved to take his place, she asked her husband if he wouldn't rather wait until she'd cleaned up. Sandor was not surprised when Joffrey said no and fucked her with his dog's seed still inside her. He wasn't surprised that he wasn't dismissed either, that Joff wanted him to watch. He watched, gazing at Sansa's face. She made the appropriate noises to please Joffrey, but Sandor suspected her cries of pleasure were not genuine. She returned his stare all the while, her eyes fluttering close only once, when she fell silent and her body shook. 

"Leave us now," Joffrey said after he was finished, yawning. Sansa was clutching a sheet to her chest, modest now that it was over. 

Sandor bowed and did as he was commanded. 

 

A moon passed and Joffrey did not order him to fuck his wife again or make mention of it. The little bird treated him no differently as well; she still addressed him as _my lord_ and chirped about inconsequential things. Sandor might have dismissed his memory of that night as a wine-induced dream but for the funny looks Osmund Kettleblack gave him. Kettleblack had been on guard outside the royal bedchamber that night. 

He was escorting Sansa to the sept one morning when she said, "Will you joust in the tourney?"

"I always do when it's worth it."

"You could ask Joffrey for my favor if you wanted."

Sandor said nothing.

"He'd make me give it to you," she added.

"I'd rather not have you do something you didn't want to for my sake." It had already been proven a lie and they both knew it, but she was too _courteous_ to point that out. 

Her smile changed, and it reflected how much she had changed over the years. It wasn't the joyous, innocent smile he'd first envied Joff, or even the court mask he'd watched her develop later. This smile was amused and knowing and slightly superior, the sort of smile usually seen on the likes of Littlefinger. "Ask him," she said. 

"As you command, Your Grace."

He had the satisfaction of seeing that smile disappear and be replaced by uncertainty. He'd never addressed her so formally before. It pleased him that she didn't like it. 

"It was not a command, my lord." Such a cool tone. 

Unable to take this game any longer, Sandor changed their course and maneuvered her into a shadowy alley. He pressed her back against the wall and braced his arms on either side of her so she could not flee. "What are you doing?"

"I thought it might please you."

"Knights need those pretty ribbons to pretend they're not simply killers. I've told you I want no part of that, and you think it would please me?" 

"I thought you'd want it if it was mine. _You kissed me!_ "

He considered whether to pretend he didn't see the connection between the two, whether to pretend he didn't understand her. He decided against it. He grasped her chin and made sure she was looking at him when he spoke. "You're not Queen Naerys and I'm certainly no fucking Dragonknight." 

Silence. 

He released her and stepped back. 

After a long moment, the queen composed herself. "I am feeling unwell. I should like to return to my chambers, ser."

Sandor gritted his teeth and suppressed the urge to snarl at her not to call him _ser_. He took her back to her bedroom and had to stand guard at the door while her maids fussed over her. She wasted the day in bed, but when it was time for dinner, Joffrey insisted she be brought to him. Sandor fixed his gaze on the crowd in the hall and tried to ignore the unhappiness on Sansa's face. 

She remained the same in the days that followed. Grand Maester Pycelle came to tend to her, but he found nothing wrong. Her moroseness was blamed on an expectant mother's moodiness. _Damn her._ Sandor refused to feel guilty; he had done nothing to her. 

When her maid left to fetch her a meal, he slipped inside the room. "Stop it, girl." 

She settled the bed covers more securely and rolled onto her side, away from him. He would have shaken her, but he didn't want to be responsible for the death of the royal heir before it had even been born. 

"My lady mother writes that she cannot leave Winterfell as much as she'd like to be with me. She has to stay with Rickon and Arya, to wait for Bran to come home. I have only my beloved Joffrey." 

He understood now how cruel it had been to destroy her pretty lies. She had a royal husband who delighted in abusing her and those lies were her only comfort. He stroked one auburn curl before he could stop himself. "The tourney will improve your mood, little bird. You'll have all the knights and singers you could want." 

He voiced no promises, but she wanted to hear one and it seemed she did. It was enough to get her out of bed and attending court with her smiling mask in place. 

"If you win the tourney and crown me Queen of Love and Beauty," she told him later that day, "Joff will probably make me thank you properly." 

He told himself it was for the selfish pleasure of fucking her that he did it, not to make her happy. 

"Your Grace, may I beg Queen Sansa for her favor in the tourney?"

One of Joffrey's perfect blond eyebrows rose. "Since when do you care about such things? You've always made mock of them."

It might amuse Joffrey if he acted like a lovesick dog. Sandor did not question his willingness to play the part. "Never seen a lady as pretty as Her Grace before."

"My mother wouldn't like to hear that," Joff said, laughing. "You'll give him your favor, Sansa."

"But I promised my favor to Ser Loras," Sansa said, sounding dismayed. "And the Hound is…" ugly, her distasteful expression suggested, "Not even a knight."

"You'll give your favor to whomever I say you will." 

"Yes, Your Grace," she agreed, looking miserable. 

That night at dinner, Sansa complained of feeling unwell. The Grand Maester fussed over her for a little while, murmuring about mother's stomach, before Joffrey grew impatient and said she could leave the hall early. She looked well enough to Sandor as he escorted her to her chambers.

She linked her arm with his as they walked, and rested her head against his shoulder. There was a soft smile on her face, a real one like from before Joff had her father's head chopped off. And she hummed to herself. Sandor recognized the tune of "Florian and Jonquil." 

"Thank you, my lord," she said when they stood outside her door. 

He wanted to follow her into her bedchamber, wanted to kiss her. But Varys had eyes and ears everywhere. Sandor would not risk her life and his own for l… lust. He would wait until King Joffrey gave him permission to have her again.


End file.
